That Close Enough?

We met at some party, both reaching for the last cider left on the table. An hour later we were kissing, an hour later we were fucking.

We tried to make an honest go of it, but after a few months we were screaming, a week after that we were throwing shit.

So we broke up, as you're supposed to, but then we crossed paths at another party with our new partners. A few minutes later we were arguing, an hour later we were fucking again.

We might make each other miserable, but we can't stand not being miserable anymore.

Gray Goo

The grey goo problem had been foreseen even back when nanobots were just a theoretical concept. If nanobots had the ability to reproduce themselves, be it intended or otherwise, then a chain reaction of exponential growth would overrun the planet as everything was consumed to make more nanobots. Their programming would tell them to reproduce until no other materials existed.

So they avoided this by giving nanobots an intelligence field, so once it got to a set density it would have enough intelligence to stop.

Or, sadly, enough intelligence to know how to increase its intelligence beyond humans, the enemy.

Rose Of Devotion

Falling in love comes with all sorts if problems, but falling in love with a fairkind has more, and they're only compounded when they return the love.

The biggest seemed to be the smallest. He planted a rose in their garden, and took the whole afternoon to explain that it being "a symbol of his devotion to her", given that she needed metaphor and symbolism explained to her.

But it wasn't until later he understood why a race of magical beings lacked metaphor, when her inate powers tied his life to the rose's. Right around the time he pruned it.

Attention To Detail

I knew gunshots weren't as quiet as they were on screen, but I was still surprised by the noise. Being in such an enclosed space didn't help, I'm sure.

The blood was a brighter shade of red than I thought would splatter out from the wound. I guess I was so used to dried blood rather than the fresh stuff.

But most of all, I was confused as to just how I was able to focus on so much meaningless detail, rather than the fact I'd just shot myself.

I guess I was trying to ignore it until it ended.

Streaming Service

"Go to bed."

I slowly raised my eyes from the livestream onscreen to look at her.

"I can't."

She made that noise in the back of her throat she made when she was upset with me.

"Yes you can. It's on the internet, if anything amazing happens it'll be recorded and giffed and memed by the morning. Go to bed."

I tried to think of an argument against this, but I couldn't, so I slowly rose to my feet and headed to bed.

Thankfully, she went to turn off the screen and so saw my marriage proposal just in time.

Buried Treasure

Memphis, July 8th, 1847

A terrible result. The tomb was here as specified in the text, but the artifact was not here. I will study the inscriptions in the morning to see if there is any clue as to its fate.

Memphis, July 9th, 1847

A clue! The inscriptions yielded nothing, but some graffiti in a corner above a makeshift  latrine was in Greek! Possibility!

London, May 7th, 1853

Finally, after much study, I believe I have traced the Greek solider to his burial plot, he must have the artifact.

Marathon, January 30th, 1854

HE WIPED HIS ASS WITH IT?!?

The Home For The Temporally Confused

There's a clock on the wall there. As long as I've been here, it's been broken. Just says 3:47 All day long, all night long too.

Now, you'd think this would be a problem, but after all it is right twice a day. Better that then something that loses a minute a year, that won't be right again for like thousands of years.

But, I hear you cry, how do you know when it's correct? Well that's the best bit, I just check the clock, obviously, how else do you check time?

It's nearly 3:47 now! Quick, hide!

Birthday Past, Birthday Future

On this, yet another yearly anniversary of my birth, my thoughts have turned to my past, and my future.

One I can't change, one I don't know.

One that is filled with highs and lows, one that promises both, or neither.

One that has made me who I am today, one that who I am today will help make.

One that I regret but also cherish, one that I fear but also desire.

One that no longer exists, one that does not yet exist, both connected to now but separate.

Overall, I just want to like both.

So far... Eh.

Snip, Snip, Snip

Snip, snip, snip.

The most powerful man in the world had to look his best every day.

Snip, snip, snip.

It would not do for a hair to be out of place, be it on his head or on his face.

Snip, snip, snip.

But it would also not do for the most powerful man in the world to trim his own hair.

Snip, snip, snip.

So it was done for him, as he watched his news network's morning programming.

Snip, snip, snip.

And failed to pay attention to the person holding the scissors at his throat.

Snip, snip, slash.

Bad Tactic

The General stared at the model of the battleground. The two sides were going to meet in this area in mere hours, and he was using most of this time trying to find the winning strategy.

He knew his opponent well, they'd studied together, his tactics were almost as good as his, but The General knew, if he just had the right plan-

The Spy department sent a courier with the good news that they'd murdered the other general in his sleep.

The General was furious, now the other side would be unpredictable AND had a martyr to inspire them.

Dear Candidate

When her parents told her that she was sure to get the scholarship, she knew she wouldn't.

When she was filling out the forms, she knew it didn't matter since she wasn't going to be picked.

When her career advisor was quietly confident, she knew there would be better candidates to choose from.

When she got the letter, she knew, before she opened it, that it would be a rejection letter.

When she opened it, and saw she'd been rejected due to incomplete paperwork, she knew that was a mistake.

It motivated her more than acceptance or rejection ever would.

A Great Deal

I was expecting smoke and fire, instead it was just a sudden switch from the chair being unoccupied, to a rather boring looking young woman in a red business suit sitting in it, shuffling papers.

"Riches, lover, power?"

I was too thrown to speak.

"Were you after the full package? Sadly we no longer offer that after Genghis Khan found a loophole."

"I need knowledge!"

"That falls under power. Cosmic, secret, future?"

"Uh... Cosmic? I guess?"

She looked over the rims of her glasses, and noticed the tentacles squirming out of the hole in reality.

"Oh, you want pest control."

Hi, Jack!

I was sitting in the back row of the plane as it taxied into position. A passenger walked down the aisle and  spoke at the air-stewardess about how the guy seated next to him was an agent, how he'd seen the gun in his pocket.

The stewardess tried to get him back to his seat, but he got more agitated until I stood up. The guy looked me over, saw the hint of my gun at my waist, and calmed down, mouthing "Air Marshal!" at me.

I wasn't, but at least where one was so I could shoot him first.

Midnight Theft

The clock struck twelve, slowly chiming midnight.

With every chime of the clock, they took another step, the sound of their movement covered by the ringing of the bells. Presumably the owner of the house was asleep, but better safe than sorry.

The large box that contained their target stood in the corner of the darkened room. But the bells were over, the floor hardwood.

The wind picked up outside, gently tapping a tree branch against a window. Every tap, a footstep.

Finally, they reached their goal. They opened the fridge, only to find Mother had eaten all the chocolate.

iLover

I opened the door.

I confirmed my name.

I expressed confusion.

I reluctantly signed my name.

I stared at the box.

I dragged it inside.

I closed the door.

I fetched a pair of scissors.

I struggled in vain.

I fetched a crowbar.

I struggled successfully.

I dug through packing peanuts.

I pulled.

I stared at the vaguely humanoid mass.

I found the letter.

I read the letter.

I awaited "my perfect lover".

I raised an eyebrow at myself.

I gave the listed codephrase.

I fought back.

I died.

I2 disposed of the body and began living its new life.

Details

I had a rule. I would get whatever you wanted from A to B, with no law problems, but I had to know what it was. Most couriers went by reasonable deniability, but I've seen too many of my competitors get caught out by not knowing their cargo was radioactive or delicate.

So when my usual middleman tried to get me to take a job without details for twice my fee, I rejected it out of hand.

Then he came back with five times my fee.

I took the job.

Airholes is one of those things I want to know.

Help Call

Due to the rotation of the planet, plus the distance to the star it was orbiting, most of the solar receivers were used up keeping life support systems going in the half of the ship that survived the crash. It took five hundred Human days to build up a supply to safely broadcast a distress call.

It took slightly longer to send the next one, as more systems were repaired. Then the next one was even longer thanks to children now existing.

By the time a message finally brought help, it became a diplomatic mission to a new colony instead.

A Wise Choice

It was a thin envelope, stuffed in the back of the autograph book at our wedding. It slipped out as I was packing things up, and I would have opened it, if not for the instructions on the front.

"Jim - Open after your first fight."

I didn't recognise the handwriting, but there were plenty of elder relatives there, and I assumed it was words of wisdom about never giving up.

Instead, as I found out after we fought about her buying a hot tub, it contained a Polaroid of the maid of honor in very little, and a phone number.

Fletcher

He presumably had a name when he was a young elf (assuming Elves had young like the rest of us), but to us, he was Fletcher.

Every time we stopped, he would sit a little way away from the fire and make arrows from whatever was around. I saw him make arrows from oak, pine, cactus, dried seaweed, roots, whatever was plentiful.

After a battle, I went to yank one of his arrows out from a dead demon when my hand went through it.

He apparently thought we'd be scared of him if we knew he shot mental force arrows.

Staring At The Clock

I had been watching the clock all day, willing it to speed up to 4:30 and the start of my holiday. I'd like to think my work hadn't suffered.

It was 3:45 when the email came in. It was a simple little note, one of the floor managers thinking someone should maybe take a look at a slightly warm machine.

I should have checked it out. Should have called up my on-call engineer and brought them in. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be wide awake now, expecting a phone call to demand I return and fix something.

A Second Figure Study

A car sat on the edge of the road. Hood up, steam rising.

A figure stood before it, focused on the exposed engine.

Another car approached, stopping nearby.

After several moments, a second figure emerged from the second car.

As they approached the first car, the second figure pulled an item from somewhere.

And in response, the first figure, by the first car, pulled out a second item.

A stand off occurred for one or two moments.

Arguments were put forward.

Answers refuted.

Figure one's second item was first to be used, on the third figure the second didn't see.

Dead Iron

I didn't look up at the banging on my door, focused on my work as I was. But I was forced to look up when they broke the door lock and stormed in.

"Can I help you?"

The figure dumped a gun onto my anvil.

"Bullets."

I awaited further information.

None came.

"I'm a blacksmith, I don't make bullets. The general store sells about a thousand for $25."

"No, stop them."

I took a long breath.

"Well, yes, that's slightly more in my field."

I picked up the gun and, seeing it was loaded, shot him for breaking my door.

Lastline Defense

The All-Consumer had already devoured every planet beyond Venus, it would be here at Earth within the hour. I was the only Custodian not busy with crowd control, so I was sent to Fate's Garden to find out why Lastline hadn't broadcast his usual last second plan.

I found him standing over a burnt body. Without turning around, he explained he would usually find the best possible future and bring back someone from that future timeline and ask them how things were solved. This time however...

I approached, and while the skin was black, I still recognized my own features.

My Headache

I have a headache.

It's not that bad a one, all things considered. I know that other people having it worse than me doesn't invalidate my feelings, but it does give me perspective.

And thus I put up with it. I probably bring it on myself, really, what with how I act. I mean, I could try to change my life to maybe get rid of it, but then maybe that wouldn't work, and it would be wasted time.

No no, far better to just accept the pain and try and focus on the positives of her.

It, I mean.

Minutes From The Secret No Females Club

The Secret No Females Club met, as per usual, on Friday afternoon in Mark's garage. After the pot luck meal break (Bobby was commended on managing to bring a family chocolate bar), discussion turned to the affairs of the week. Siddiq began a presentation on the baseball game the previous Sunday when Zhang arrived and tabled an emergency motion, regarding how Rachel, a previously discussed female on Washinton Parade, had now become a male called Gordon. Discussion was brief, with Dwayne providing technical information, and a motion was tabled and passed to invite him into The Club.

Meeting was dismissed.

Insert Payment

The phone rang.

I appreciate that doesn't seem like a big deal, phones ring all the time, that's in, like, their top 5 uses. But this was a public payphone.

The voice on the other end was very relieved, as they asked me "why no-one had used me in so long, I'm so hungry."

I don't know why I leapt to the assumption that the payphone was asking me, but I told it how no-one used payphones anymore because of our mobiles. The voice then demanded help in exchange for my life.

But whatever. You want to buy my car?

Down Soul

The Guard locked the cell door. The Prisoner sneered at him.

"You can lock up my body, but not my soul!"

"Sure I can, these here are soul binding bars."

The Guard knocked the bars with his baton. The Prisoner tilted his head slightly.

"No, I was talking metaphorically, idiot. As long as I can imagine and dream, I'm free."

The Guard chuckled.

"So I was I, genius. These things rattle and drip with moisture, you'll always be reminded of where you are, no daydreaming for you!"

The Guard wasn't about to tell The Prisoner about the magic spells, obviously.

Name, Rank, Serial Number

The door opened, as the loud music stopped. After a few moments, a man brought in a desk.

"Sergeant Jeff Becker, 848732B."

He placed the desk, making sure it was lined up, before ducking back out and bringing in a chair.

"Sergeant Jeff Becker, 848732B."

He walked out, the door closing.

The door reopened.

"Sergeant Jeff Becker, 848732B."

A woman walked in and placed her briefcase down, the clasps snapping open as she began to unpack its contents onto the desk, finishing with a picture of his daughter, taken that morning, it looked like.

"What do you want to know?"

The Simple Plan

The plan was, for him, quite simple. Usually, in an attempt to ensure the various Superheros couldn't stop him, he'd have dozens of false flags and hidden back ups and back ups for the back ups.

But this time, he didn't need all that. He just had to steal one specific item, then recite one incantation, and he'd have power beyond his wildest dreams.

It wasn't even a heavily guarded item, just a goblet in a third rate museum.

Still, best to make it look like he was stealing something else.

And do a false flag robbery across town.

And...

Late First Contact

There was movement in front of the hologram display, so it sprung into life.

"Welcome to Earth! Do you need help?"

The holographic woman flickered slightly as the AI began to adjust. The last 53,874,754 times it had offered assistance, there was no-one. Now there was an alien bring.

"Do you speak Earthen?"

The AI tried, and failed, to connect to the network, and so was forced to utilise emergency protocols.

"On behalf of the Human Race, welcome. Do you have a translation matrix to interface?"

The alien scout hologram finally connected to their network, and downloaded first contact protocols.